Soiled bottles of rust becoming torrential
eventually creating a void where my head once fell
So I held out my tongue and inherited wishes
to finish out his reign over Western Montana
Rifle through the hills and tear out the pages
A wage placed to the cur all tender and gristle
Oh whistler, you don't ring as true when summer has gone
The swan will sing just for you when I no longer hear it
I trudged through swamps of black ash until the awakening
and hunted the great horned owl across the badlands
until all of my labors were sunk with the shadows behind me
At the end of Mercury's pass lies a new life's blood
The flood is released to the chill of Astoria's white mist
A kiss placed only to life over dead pines and trenches
so wretched and worn the names that I once belonged to
I trudged through swamps of black ash until the awakening
and hunted the great horned owl across the badlands
until all of my labors were sunk with the shadows behind me
Stark, folk-derived songs built on brittle acoustic guitars that conjure the image of a fire burning in the distance on a dark night. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 8, 2022